The Problem With Billionaires (Billionaire Club Book 5)

by Brynn Paulin

  I smirked and leaned down to kiss her. “The reality is, you’re mine and I love you and I will take care of you.”

  She sighed and relaxed against my pec again. “I love you, too. Do you want to know the real reason getting through school and getting a good job was so important to me?”

  “Of course. I want to know everything about you.”

  “I was terrified something would happen to Gloria or that the State would take Linzey from her. I know she’s sixteen, but I’m still really worried about that. Gloria was a terrible mother. We were on our own most of the time. I didn’t want Linzey in the system.”

  “That’s understandable. She’s your sister.”

  “There’s more. When I was a couple years younger than Linz, I had a friend who was in a foster home. Ginger. She was my best friend. As it turned out, the family she’d been placed with were abusing her. She ran away to my house. But my dad didn’t believe her. He made her go home. Took her there himself. That was the last time I ever saw her. She…” Marigold shook as she took a deep, shuddering breath. I wanted to protect her. I wanted to remove all her pain. “She didn’t come to school for a few days after that. I don’t know all the details. It was just…so bad that she died. Her foster parents killed her. I never forgave my dad. When he committed suicide, I still hadn’t. I was so angry and betrayed by him. Both then and before with Ginger.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I’d known only the tip of the iceberg when it came to her trauma. My forehead tipped to hers, and we both breathed together. In my silent embrace, I tried to give her my strength. It would always be hers.

  “So the stupid thing is,” she went on, “it’s also why my focus is early childhood education. I just wanted a degree so I could get a decent job and become a foster parent. A good one. I know there are wonderful ones out there. I want to be one.”

  If that was her dream, I’d make it happen.

  Chapter Eleven

  ~ Booker ~

  Sure enough the story about Criminal Marigold came out the next day. All the sordid details of her life were splashed across the news outlets for the world to see.

  My people had done as much damage control as possible and facilitated several articles that portrayed her as a victim and a survivor. The Office of His Royal Highness, Prince Booker Christian Edward Grammar of Zenderland had issued a statement decrying the tabloid articles and requesting the public’s respect for her privacy during the highly emotional and difficult time. The police spokesperson had also released a statement citing that Marigold had been a person they were interested in speaking with, but that she was not now, nor had she been, a suspect.

  I’d spent a fair amount of time raging on the phone about defamation and suing for libel. My harried legal team were on it, and likely wishing I’d never fallen in love.

  When my phone rang, I thought it was one of them. Instead, it was my mother. I closed my eyes, steeling myself before I picked up.

  “Mother,” I greeted her.

  “Booker, I ignored the last story,” she said without any preliminary pleasantries. “But really, Booker. This girl is beneath you. I cannot believe you are running about with her when you’re marrying someone else. You are engaged to someone else.”

  “You know as well as I do, I never agreed to any union. If you did, you had better dissolve it. I will not marry anyone but Marigold Grey. I love her and I’m not forsaking her for your whim.”

  “Whim? Do you know how long it takes to arrange something like this?”

  “Don’t care. I told you not to.”

  “Do recall who you are speaking to? America has done no good for you and this attitude of yours. You must come home immediately. I command it.”

  I really needed to call my father and have him reign her in. He loved her to death, but sometimes, I couldn’t imagine why. “Not going to happen.”

  “I am your queen!”

  “Oh, I thought I was speaking to my mother. My apologies.”

  There was silence, but I knew the call hadn’t dropped. On the other end of the line, she was seething and drawing herself in. I’d seen it happen a time or twelve, several times in conjunction with her youngest child—me. I had been trying, but now, as an adult, I was well within reason with my refusal to comply.

  “Get rid of the girl,” she finally ground out.

  “Not in this lifetime or the next. I love you, Mother. Finish this thing with Princess Athena. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  * * * *

  ~ Marigold ~

  I stared at the inflammatory story, realizing life with Booker meant dealing with crap like this. It was mostly fiction, but I was afraid too many people took sites like The Daily Scoop as gospel.

  “It’s not true,” I told Cricket, who’d come over to comfort me after the stories had broken. We were sitting at a grouping of chairs beside the pool. It was a little breezy as we got closer to true autumn, but I didn’t mind.

  “I know,” she replied. “Ninety-five percent fiction; five percent grain of truth. Maybe not even that much. I’m sorry about your sister being missing. At least when you thought she was with your stepmom… Well, you knew where she was, even if you didn’t know where she was, you know?”

  “I do,” I replied. My stomach was sick with fear just imagining all the scenarios. “I have to believe we’ll find Linz and she’ll be safe. I have to. Booker has a ton of people on it.”

  “I do, precious,” he said, coming onto the patio. Lifting me into his arms, he took my seat and pulled me onto his lap. His lips pressed to my hair, and he inhaled. “I need you,” he whispered. “Right here on my lap. For now.”

  He looked over at Cricket. “I was just on the phone with Brix. He’s helping me out with this issue. He tells me knows some people who have…different connections from mine.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” she laughed. “He does know quite the variety of people. Brix is one-hundred percent legal and legit, but I don’t know if that’s true about all the people he knows. We don’t ask; they don’t tell. But he’s very judicious about who gets to touch his business.”

  “As long as it gets the job done. Brix and I were also talking about the fundraiser tonight. I have a stylist and people for makeup and hair getting here in about an hour. Yours will be arriving soon, too.”

  “What…?” I asked. Fundraiser? Stylists?

  “Oh! Right. Yeah, my people should be getting here about then. Crap, I better go get ready for getting ready,” Cricket said before popping up. “See you in a little bit, babe.” She looked at Booker. “Are we riding together?”

  He shook his head. “No, not with the red carpet arrival.”

  “Right,” she agreed, obviously understanding him. I had no idea.

  “Red carpet?” I asked.

  “This is part of sharing a life with these darn billionaires. And this is where we show everyone you have nothing to be ashamed of. Fuck those gossip hounds. Head high, smile on your face,” Cricket says. She kissed my cheek then ran off.

  I straddled Booker, waiting for him to explain. Why hadn’t he mentioned this before? Now seemed a terrible time to be out celebrating.

  “You can do this,” he simply said. He pushed a strand of hair behind my ear, but the breeze blew it free a moment later. As we sat, face-to-face, inches apart, it brushed across his cheek and caught in his beard as if binding us together.

  “Why?” I asked.

  His intent gaze bore into mine. “This isn’t a time to hide. I want you to experience what it’s like to be in my life. I want the world to see you on my arm, and I want everyone to know some trash on the internet doesn’t affect us.”

  That was easy for him to say when the gossip wasn’t about him.

  His thumb stroked over my jaw. “I know what you’re thinking. Your face is clear to read. No, it’s not easy for me. I don’t like being in the spotlight; I never have. I spend most of my time doing my best to avoid it. Worse, it kills me that you’ve been caught in this. We’ve
issued a statement from me countering the article and denouncing what was said. All the legitimate news outlets will pick it up. Likely, more news agencies will report on you, but it won’t be the derogatory bullshit that came out after the police station visit.” He grinned. “And it’s a poorly veiled lights and mirrors move, but people adulate royalty. Seeing you glamorous and beautiful on my arm, seeing how much I love you, people will adore the story of the Zenderland prince and his soon-to-be princess.”

  Soon-to-be princess? Was he hinting at a proposal? I wasn’t brave enough to ask.

  “Okay,” I whispered. I’d tough this out. I’d been strong my whole life, endured more horrible things than anyone my age should—my mother’s desertion, my father’s suicide, my best friend’s murder, sudden homelessness, having to care for my family because no one else would…

  Standing tall to face the press would be mild in comparison.

  “What’s the charity?” I asked.

  “It’s a Doctors Around the World benefit. I’m also getting an award.”

  “You are?” I exclaimed. I didn’t even know what it was for, but I was so proud of my man.

  He nodded. “I’m getting a career achievement award. When I was in college, I invented a device that’s used for early detection of lung cancer. I actually developed it to combat juvenile asthma, but we found it had other side benefits. That’s where my money comes from—not from my family’s coffers. I earned it.”

  “So, not a spoiled trust-fund kid?”

  “Just a spoiled prince, sorry.”

  “Me too. I guess we can’t be together now,” I teased, moving to get off him.

  He grasped my hips, holding me against him. “Just try and leave me. Then you’ll really have to bone up on your defense skill—you’ll have a full-time stalker who manages to sleep in your bed every night.”

  “Like I could use that stuff on you,” I laughed. “I wouldn’t hurt this pretty body. He brings me so much pleasure.”

  “So now I’m just a sex object?”

  I shrugged, smirking. He wasn’t just anything. He was everything.

  “Tell me more about the award,” I urged.

  “The committee is also pretty chuffed that I dedicate so much time working with the underprivileged. You haven’t seen it yet, but I’ll start taking you along when I go for the free clinic days. I know you’ll enjoy the kids. I do three evenings and two full weekend days at the end of every month. Plus I’m their on-call physician one week a month.” He shrugged. “Truly, it’s just what I was raised to do. Support charities; work for the greater good. My mother and father were pretty pissed when I informed them I wouldn’t be toeing the family line, and I’d be going to medical school. No one has ever done that in the history of the monarchy. We all go into the family business of being royal, sponsors and philanthropists. We don’t become accountants or teachers or doctors—or anything else we might desire. I refused to comply. My mum will be the first to tell you I was a noncompliant child.”

  I couldn’t help being impressed by this man and growing deeper in love with him by the minute. He was hard working. Caring. He understood there were plenty of people less blessed than he was, and he didn’t view them as lesser or some sort of minions. It explained why he’d never looked down on me. Booker was a genuinely good man.

  “I love you,” I whispered then bit my lip, shocked that it had popped out right then. It didn’t matter. I could tell him a hundred million times and still have more in me.

  “Oh, precious,” he whispered back. “You have no idea how much I love you.” He scooped me up into his arms and headed inside.

  Gales of laughter pealed from me. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m going to dirty you up before you get all glammed up. I’d say all beautiful, but you’re already the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—and I’ve visited most of the wonders of the world.”

  Chapter Twelve

  ~ Marigold ~

  The sapphire-blue dress was gorgeous and glided around me like gossamer wings. Still, I sat stiffly on the back seat of the limo. I was afraid I’d wrinkle myself or that my hands would leave sweat marks on the fabric or I’d mess up my hair or makeup. Marigold Grey and being fancy didn’t go hand-in-hand. We didn’t even walk on the same side of the street.

  I looked over at Booker. He clenched and unclenched his hands as he stared out the opposite window. Well, he seemed to be anyway. Then I caught him gazing at me in the reflection.

  “Nervous?” I asked, watching his hands fist again.

  “What? No,” he said as if I’d pulled him from a trance.

  My hand covered his fingers closest to me, and he turned and laced his through mine. His large, warm presence was an anchor in my storm of nerves. I wanted to be his, as well.

  “Then what’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Nothing? Bull. He had tension written all over him. Though in his dark-navy tux and pristine white shirt, he sure wore it well. “You look super tense.”

  “I am,” he admitted. “You’re so fucking beautiful. I want to drag you onto my lap and mess you up. I want everyone to know you’re mine, too. Yet, I know this is your first appearance at a gala. I want it to be perfect for you. I don’t want you to look back on it and think, Fucking Booker. He got my lipstick all smeared and gave me just-fucked hair right before we stepped in front of the cameras.”

  I giggled. “I probably wouldn’t think that, but thank you. After the red carpet, maybe, we can find somewhere…private. We could…” I shrugged. “You know… You can try to mess up my lipstick. I have more gloss in my purse, and the stain is supposedly kiss-proof.”

  “Challenge accepted,” he growled. I thought he’d break then and drag me onto his lap, but before he could, the car pulled up to the building where a red carpet and ropes led to the front door.

  He looked at me. “Ready?”

  I nodded tightly.

  His fingers squeezed mine. “Just smile and wave,” he said in a low, gentle voice. “I’ll stay close to your side the whole time. I’ll be right there with you. Promise.”

  Oh crap, how was I supposed to wave? Was there a certain way? How much smile was too much smile? I didn’t want to look like an over-enthusiastic weirdo…

  “Shh…” Booker murmured against my temple. “Just follow my lead. Be your regular, perfect self, and you’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t want to embarrass you.” Yeah, I was kind of freaking out. All the calm I usually possessed flew out the window at the reality of stepping into the spotlight.

  “That could never happen. I love you exactly as you are. Don’t worry about everyone else.”

  I looked up at him, the stars bright in my eyes, no doubt. “I love you, too. I can do this. It’s your special night, and I’m just being self-conscious and selfish. I’m sorry.”

  “Love, you’re not being selfish. Let’s just do this so we can go home and do what we really want to do.”

  “Netflix and chill?”

  He laughed. “Something like that.”

  Booker knocked on the window, apparently indicating we were ready, and the door swung open. He stepped out first then extended a hand to me. Blinding camera strobes obscured my vision as I exited, trying not to stumble or flash anyone. Booker guided me, making my movements appear graceful. I noticed Alder exiting the front seat and following us at a discreet distance.

  People shouted Booker’s name, and to my surprise, I heard my name a few times, too. I waved in that general direction, doing my best to do my impersonation of a Princess Diana wave and strived for a serene smile. We stopped and posed for a few pictures as we traversed the carpet that seemed a mile long.

  My nerves lessened as I approached the walk as if it were a job, a persona to adopt for the moment. And I supposed it was. This wasn’t Booker’s norm, either. This wasn’t at all the Booker I saw every day. I was experiencing Prince Booker for the very first time. And darn if he didn’t turn me on the same way. I
got tingly imagining removing that bespoke tux.

  Booker leaned into me. “You’re doing great, love. They adore you.”

  I gave a single nod then looked up at him and smiled. He gazed down at me affectionately, and the cameras went mad. I just hoped tomorrow’s headlines would be all about how in love we were. Maybe, they’d forget about yesterday’s “news,” and his mother would realize he didn’t want any part of her arranged marriage plan. When he’d told me about that, I’d wanted to go ballistic. Apparently, I was as possessive as he was.

  He squeezed my hand and guided me toward the next stop. Gah, this one had a waifish reporter with a platinum updo. She had a mic in her hand and a cameraman beside her. I’d have to do more than smile and wave. Booker went to stand on the mark and pulled me close to his side, with his hand curled around my waist. He pressed his mouth to my ear. “Just relax, love. Lean into me and put your hand on my chest.”

  “Prince Booker,” the blonde woman gushed, drawing our full attention. “Congratulations on your award.”

  “Thank you, Barbara,” he replied. “It’s been a passion of mine for many years. I’m just thankful that so many have benefited and lives have been saved.”

  Okay, well, apparently, he knew her. A tiny, jealous part of me wondered if he’d ever dated her. But I quashed the dumb thought. I knew Booker was completely mine.

  She nodded. “And who is this with you?”

  Barbara turned to me, her smile and ice-blue eyes far cooler. Right. Like you don’t know who I am.

  I smiled, but it was Booker who answered. “This is my fiancée, Marigold Grey.”

  Fian-what?

  I strove to keep an unsurprised expression on my face as I leaned closer to his side. The arm around my waist tightened. The reporter seemed to have no questions after that—for a second anyway as she got her own surprise under control.

  “Fiancée?” she echoed. Her hand went to her earpiece where someone was no doubt feeding her information. “But aren’t you engaged to Princess Athena of Finealia? Recent reports state your mother is busy planning the wedding of the decade, to rival those of Prince William and Kate and Prince Harry and Meghan.”